


Cupid's Got A Brand New Gun

by ringerxo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, were!stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:45:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ringerxo/pseuds/ringerxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Peter turned Stiles and killed Lydia.</p><p>Stiles is caught by the Argents. They want Scott, Derek responds instead.</p><p>Title taken from Michael Penn's song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupid's Got A Brand New Gun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saucery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/gifts).



> Inspired by [a lovely piece of artwork](http://grrrbarrowman.tumblr.com/post/35058553088/saucefactory-i-would-write-a-story-for-this-but) that I spied on Tumblr, and the wonderful Saucery requested that someone write it. So I did, of course, inspired by the 'verse that [Noga](http://archiveofourown.org/users/totastethestars) created. Enjoy!

_It's hiding in the corner_  
Of every sacred place  
Before the ambush you won't want to  
Recognize it's face  
It slithers like a viper  
Readies it's attack  
Tears your flesh and soul apart  
Then clings on to your back  
But not till it turns away  
Can you feel the pain of all the damage done  
And you may notice that  
This quick opiate  
Might wear the wings of angels [Michael Penn, ["Cupid's Got a Brand-New Gun"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vCd-S63PCc)] 

*

Stiles almost felt human again.

He was tied to a chair securely with thick strips of burlap woven with dried, hellish strands of wolfsbane vine. The chair, of course, was mountain ash, so he was continuously straining against his bonds to get away from the chair, and the bonds were burning him in turn.

The air was heavy with wolfsbane mists. Apparently, Chris Argent considered it a mission to continue his deceased wife's exquisitely horrible torture methods.

He could hazily remember the moment Allison's dad found him in the forest, and he clearly remembered the crossbow bolt, head tipped with wolfsbane paste, penetrate his upper arm. From that moment on, all he could recall was Allison standing over him, expression blank, while her dad's hunter buddies tied him up, and periodical moments of clarity where Chris Argent taunted with a hard and brittle voice.

"Derek..." he croaked at one point, and Chris raised an eyebrow humorlessly.

"We're not trying to lure Hale here, Stilinski," he said in a low voice. "It's McCall we want."

Stiles had no idea how long he had been there, but he didn't care. All he could think of was keeping Scott away, and he had no way to--

A growl erupted right outside the door. If Stiles could summon the energy to pick his head up, he would; instead, he tried to listen beyond the haze of pain. All he could hear were screams and wolves roaring.

He tried drawing a breath to scream—and inhaled a lungful of wolfsbane. The pain became too much, and he blacked out.

*

When he came to, it was as if Peter had just freshly turned him. His heightened sensory abilities hit him like a rush of blood to the head, and it took him a few minutes before he could place what was different about the room. Before he could come to a conclusion in that matter, his mind supplied him with a different detail.

It was light outside.

He frowned. Why was there a window open?

That's when the door opened. Derek was framed in the doorway, wearing a surgical mask. All Stiles could see was his bright green-grey eyes, staring at him.

"I'm awake, so you can take that off," Stiles said archly, albeit in a hoarse whisper. Derek ripped the mask off and moved closer.

“Is Scott okay?” he asked. “Because Chris—“

“Wanted to get at him because of Allison, yeah,” Derek cut in. “He’s fine, he wasn’t even here. I wouldn’t let him.” His face was still set in a deep frown, his forehead furrowed as if he was contemplating the biggest problems in the universe.

“So, no more death mist,” Stiles hastily said. “Boy, that shit stings. But now I can breathe like a normal human being. Well, the bit of me that’s still human.”

"Then why haven't you ripped the bindings up?" he challenged Stiles harshly.

The bite didn't change one's personality, so Stiles arched an eyebrow and fired back, "Wolfsbane woven into the fabric, sourass, and I'm a bit weak. Being tied to a mountain a-- mmph."

Derek had crossed the short distance between them and crushed his mouth to Stiles'.

Stiles, shocked, didn't close his eyes - didn't move, frankly, until Derek bit his bottom lip and Stiles' eyelids slid shut. He let out a moan and opened his mouth; Derek, seeing this as an invitation, licked his way into Stiles' mouth.

Breaking apart and panting hard, Derek leaned his forehead against Stiles' and groaned. Stiles wrinkled his forehead, confused, until he heard the bindings rip, and Derek dropped to his knees

He looked down; Derek's hand was twisting against the chair, fighting to rip the leg bindings. It looked like Derek’s hand was burning from the inside and having a localized epilepsy attack at the same time; he scrabbled against the bindings, panting harshly—with pain, Stiles realized, not lust.

Or not only lust, as Stiles could smell.

“Derek,” he said weakly, after clearing his throat. “You can use a knife.”

“No, I can’t,” his alpha growled. “Can’t hurt you more than—“

“I can heal, remember?” Stiles began saying, but stopped. Because he realized what was happening.

“Derek Hale, get up here right now,” he said in his most commanding voice. It came out sounding more like a plea, but Stiles didn’t care.

Derek complied, getting to his feet. Stiles used his freed hands to pull Derek down to him; he kissed him, tender and slow. When he pulled back and leaned his forehead against Derek’s, he could see the guilt in Derek’s eyes. The pain. The self-loathing.

“It’s not your fault,” he said gently. “None of it is. So don’t injure yourself saving me as a particularly clichéd form of self-flagellation.” Derek opened his mouth to respond, but Stiles put his finger over Derek’s lips to stop him. “Now, use your pocketknife. Because after that kiss, I expect at least a victory handjob, and you won’t be able to deliver if your hands are injured more than they already are.”

This time, Derek nipped at Stiles’ lip and pulled, hard enough for Stiles to cry out in pain and lust. Licking over the abused flesh, Derek growled.

“I hope you mean to reciprocate.”

Stiles grinned. “Of course.”

FIN.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm continuing this. Look out for one more chapter. And there will be smut, so I'm also changing the rating.


End file.
